


if I could learn to let go

by thetruecaptain



Category: The Expanse Series - James S. A. Corey
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Guilt, Nemesis Games Spoilers, Shame, Unhealthy Relationships, losing a child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-20 11:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14259858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetruecaptain/pseuds/thetruecaptain
Summary: The only right we have with anyone is the right to walk away.





	1. Gone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a fic - like, ever - and I'm a nervous wreck but here goes! I appreciate comments whether they're compliments or constructive criticism! 
> 
> Special shout out to [Steel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steel/) ([@perrinmywolf](http://perrinmywolf.tumblr.com/)) for being my beta reader and listening to my constant flailing/anxious ramblings, and to [Dead_walking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dead_walking/) [ (]()[@the-roci](http://the-roci.tumblr.com/)) for the kind and encouraging words that helped me get past my nerves!
> 
> No idea how many chapters this will be, yet, but I do have a rough plan so updates should come fairly quickly.

Naomi wakes from a dreamless sleep to an empty bed. The events of the night before are a blur but the one thing she remembers - the one thing that’s stuck - is the resolve. It’s the first time since the  _ Augustin Gamarra _ that Naomi has felt anything but guilt and despair. Her certainty is like a boulder standing fast against the current. It’s the only thing that keeps her from drowning. 

_ ‘We’re leaving. Filip unte mi.’ _

Marco had been calmer than she’d expected when she told him. He’d been angry, she could see it in the way his jaw hardened, the way his eyes went sharp and hard like flint. But he hadn’t argued. 

_ ‘You’re tired. Not thinking straight. Sleep on it. Talk more tomorrow.’  _

Then he’d left, closing the door softly behind him. 

In the darkness, Naomi presses her palms briefly against her eyes and draws in a slow, steady breath. There’s a knot of anxiety and anticipation in her chest. The decision to leave wasn’t an easy one to make, but it’s right. Her life is here, and the people she has come to see as family. Filip’s family. But she can’t look at them anymore, can’t even look at herself. Out is the only way. She reaches for her hand terminal, taps the display to check the time. With a sharp gasp she sits upright, calls for the lights. She's already scrambling off the bed to Filip's crib, her heart beating like a bird fluttering wildly against the bars of its cage. 

The crib is empty. 

_ No, no, no. _

Naomi fumbles with her hand terminal, opens a connection to Marco. Seconds later - too many seconds - his handsome face fills the screen. His eyes crinkle at the corners the way they do when he smiles at her. The sight of it used to flush her with warmth but now it makes her feel nauseated. 

"Filip is-"

"I took him," Marco cuts her off, leans in closer to his display the way he does when he wants to make the conversation feel more intimate. Except now Naomi suspects that Marco doesn’t want her to know where is. “Wanted you to rest.”

"Kepelésh to?" She manages to make it sound casual, to her own ears at least, but she's gripping her hand terminal so hard that her fingers ache. _Where is my son?_

"Don't you worry about that," Marco answers with another of his disarming smiles. Naomi's heart sinks and she wants to scream, wants to shout at him to tell her where he is so she can go to them. So she can go to her son. “Take the day to rest. Talk more tonight.”

He ends the transmission without waiting for a response and Naomi is left standing next to Filip’s crib. The silence is deafening. For nearly a year she has been surrounded by Filip's sounds - his coos and laughter, the way he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and giggles. The quiet noises he makes even in his sleep. Helplessness settles over her like a great weight, makes her shoulders sag. She's trembling and can't tear her eyes away from Filip’s crib, as if somehow that will make him reappear.

They'll be back. Tonight, Marco said. He took Filip to give her time to rest. He just wants to talk. 

She can't stop shaking. 

 

\----

 

When the door opens Naomi is waiting, her eyes sliding over and past Marco in search of Filip's chubby cheeks and curly dark hair. She's already reaching for him, ready to swoop him up and press sloppy kisses to his neck in the way that makes him squeal with laughter and delight. She aches to hold him, a need that manifests itself in the tightness that sits in her chest.

He's the only thing pure and good left in her life.

Marco steps into their little hole alone and closes the door. Naomi stops and draws back, frowning because Filip isn't there. She even cranes her head to look around Marco as if Filip is somewhere behind him, an irrational gesture but one she can't help. She feels a bubble of panic but swallows it down, forces herself to meet Marco's eyes. He's watching her with something that might have been sympathy. Not long ago Naomi would have interpreted the tilt of his lips as earnest, but now she sees smugness.

"You said-" she starts, but Marco cuts her off by raising a hand.

"That we'd talk tonight," he says, his tone both firm and placating. He steps forward to close the distance between them. Her instinct is to retreat and it's obvious in the way she leans away from him. She tastes something toxic and bitter. This closeness he forces between them; once it felt like intimacy.

Now, she feels trapped.

He puts one hand on her shoulder, lifts the other to stroke his thumb down her chin and looks into her eyes as though they're sharing a moment. His voice is soft and sad when he speaks. "Much to talk about. Sit." He gestures to the bed, the only piece of furniture in their small rental other than Filip's plastic crib. Naomi remains rooted in place, casting another glance at the door as if it can tell her what Marco has done with their child. Marco squeezes her shoulder. She blinks and forces her gaze back to him.

"Where is Filip?"

"Don't worry yourself." There is a light in Marco's eyes that Naomi never noticed before, or perhaps she didn't want to. It's triumphant, as if she's saying exactly what he anticipates. She has the sudden impression that this is all a scene Marco has already written and she’s playing her role perfectly.

"I want-"

Marco puts a finger to her lips to cut her off a second time. He steps forward again, this time to force her to move back toward the bed. "I know. Need to talk, like I said. Sit."

Stubbornness surges through her. She stands fast, pulling her shoulder back out of his grip. She lifts her chin, meets his eyes, opens her mouth to argue that she has every right to know where Filip is. Something shifts in Marco's expression. His jaw hardens, his head cants slightly to one side. She isn't sticking to his script and it isn't acceptable. His hand reaches for her again, this time curling around her upper arm to dig his fingers painfully into her flesh. Without further comment Marco steers her over to the mattress.

Naomi sits. She perches on the edge of the bed with her feet flat on the floor as if she’s ready to bolt at the first opportunity. She has to twist her fingers together to keep from fidgeting. Dread sits heavy in the pit of her stomach.

"We're worried about you, setara."  _ We _ ? A faint frown creases her brow but Naomi remains silent. She senses that he's building up to a carefully rehearsed monologue. He won't take kindly to any interruptions. Everything Marco does is deliberate,  _ planned _ , as if life is simply a play that he's writing as he goes. Naomi, like everyone else, is nothing more than a supporting actor meant to make Marco Inaros shine.

Why did it take people dying for her to see it?

He crouches in front of her to look up into her face with pity and sorrow, his hands coming to rest on her knees. "You haven't been right. Haven't been taking care of yourself. Hardly eating or sleeping. Everyone sees. Now you want to leave. You aren’t well." His hand comes up to brush a strand of curly dark hair away from her eyes and there is such love and concern on his face that Naomi almost believes it.  _ Wants _ to believe. She feels the tightness in her chest move up to her throat, feels the tears pool in the corners of her eyes.

He isn’t wrong. It's all she can do to get through the day.  _ Two-hundred and thirty-four people dead. _ Filip is her only light.

"I want my son." The words spill out before she can stop them. She meant to make it a demand but it comes out as a desperate plea instead. She hates herself for being so weak. Her hands grab hold of Marco's. “Where’s Filip?“

Marco's eyes are full of sorrow. His lips are smug. 

“Séf.” Seconds pass in silence as this sinks in and she understands what he’s saying. What he’s  _ not  _ saying.  _ You tried to take him, so I took him first. _ Something large shifts in Naomi’s chest and it’s like her insides have turned to water. A wave of vertigo hits her as her blood pressure drops and then spikes again. She pulls her hands away from Marco’s and twists her fingers into the thin blanket she’s sitting on, an attempt to counteract the sensation that she’s spinning wildly out of control. 

When she doesn’t speak Marco rises and turns to sit on the bed beside her. “You’re not thinking straight.” He tilts his head to look at her with an expression that is a perfectly rehearsed mix of pity and sorrow. “First year of motherhood im mal, ya? Like you náterash, nating ta hold you down.” He spreads his hands and it’s all Naomi can do not to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he tells her where Filip is. She feels a scream rise in her throat and swallows forcefully, then focuses on breathing in and out through her nose. “Im kowl gut. It’s okay to need help.” He takes her chin in his hand, lifts her head so she’s forced to meet his gaze. “Won’t let you take my son.” His voice hardens and his dark eyes go cold, dangerous as they bore into hers. Naomi feels a shiver wash through her. She shouldn’t have told him. Should have left when she could. 

“Where is Filip?” It comes out hardly louder than a whisper. 

Marco stares at her long enough that she knows he wants to make her uneasy. Intimidate her. Naomi can’t feel anything but the need to know where her child is. 

“Trying to be supportive, mi,” Marco says with a heavy sigh, as though he can’t imagine why she’s being so difficult. He stands and paces across the little room, then turns again to face her with his hands spread in a helpless gesture. Except nothing about Marco Inaros is helpless. It’s an act. Has it all been an act? From the very start? “Wan da sheng? Pains me to say,” he pauses, looks at her for a long stretch that is full of regret, like he doesn’t want to hurt her. “Can’t trust you with Filipito, not like this.” He gestures to her and Naomi is made hyper-aware of how she must look to him. Pale face, dark circles under haunted eyes. She must have lost weight in the past weeks because she can hardly stand to look at food, let alone eat it. 

“I would never hurt him.” It should have been a statement full of certainty and strength and anger that he would suggest otherwise, but her voice wavers as if she’s on the edge of breaking. Something shifts in Marco’s eyes - a flash of triumph, and Naomi realizes she’s walked right into a trap she had no idea he was setting. 

“But you would take him from his father? Rip his family apart because you can’t deal with your own felota? Think that won’t hurt him?”  _ You’re selfish. _ He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. “Need to get your emotions under control, Naomi. No good to him like this, you.” 

“Ya. Ya, you’re right.” Naomi stands, moving toward Marco with her hands raised in supplication. “We’ll stay. I’ll stay.” Her hands are shaking and she knows she looks desperate, pitiful. She can’t stop herself. Doesn’t  _ care _ . Just wants her son back. “He hasn’t been away from me like this. He needs me. Fodagut.” She can feel the tears now, falling freely down her cheeks. She’s breaking apart. He’s broken her. Is breaking her. “Fodagut.” 

Marco shakes his head and purses his lips, looks at her the way a person might look at a lost puppy. He’s moved to the door, one hand already lifted to slide it open. “Take some days, get it together.  Mi gonya kom wámotim. Then we talk.”

Then he’s gone. Naomi sinks to the floor because her legs have gone too weak to support her. A sob escapes her, a quiet, broken sound that seems to echo in the too-empty hole.  _ Should have seen this coming. Should have seen it all. _

There’s no one to blame but herself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lang Belta used in this fic is from the show, though this fic is technically more of a book fic since we don't know much about show!Naomi's history, yet (though I can't imagine it's too different). I used [Memrise](https://www.memrise.com/course/1476694/lang-belta-belter-creole-phrasebook/) for my translations. If you see any errors please let me know!
> 
>  **Belter Creole**  
>  Filip unte mi - “Filip and me.”  
> Kepelésh to - “Where are you?”  
> Setara - darling/dear, an endearment  
> Séf - safe  
> Im mal, ya? - "It's hard, yes?"  
> Like you náterash, nating ta hold you down. - “Like you’re on the float, nothing to hold you down.”  
> Im kowl gut - it’s okay/it's all good  
> Wan da sheng - “Want the truth?”  
> Fodagut - please  
> Mi gonya kom wámotim - “I’ll be back”


	2. Karal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naomi turns up at Karal's place, desperate to find Filip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Melda ([@nightsidemelody](https://nightsidemelody.tumblr.com/)) for giving this a read before I posted! Sorry this took a couple of weeks, I kept deleting and restarting this one. 
> 
> It's based on what we learn in one of Naomi's chapters in Nemesis Games, when Karal admits to having kept Filip in the "early days" after Marco took him, and Naomi wonders what she must have looked like to him as she broke down in a mess of tears and profanity in his wife's arms. 
> 
> Belter Creole translations at the end of the chapter!

Karal has known Marco Inaros for so long that he can’t remember a time in his life that Inaros wasn’t in it. It’s been him, Inaros, and Cyn for nearly two decades now. They joined up under Captain Rokku together and were slaving away on that mining and salvage ship since before they could grow beards. Marco’s always had big dreams, and really that isn’t so different from other Belter koyos except Marco actually has the kula to get there. He sets his sights on a thing and he gets it. There’s a way about him that sucks others in, makes his ambitions their own. Marco Inaros is headed for big places, big things. Anyone with eyes can see it. He’s the steadiest koyo Karal knows. 

That’s why, in this moment, Karal feels as if he’s looking at a stranger. He’s never seen his friend so distressed.

“She’s acting crazy,” Marco says, scrubbing his hands over his face. He’s sitting on Karal’s sofa with his feet braced on the floor, elbows on his knees. There are faint circles under his eyes, evidence of a night without sleep. Karal can hear Filip cooing and laughing in the bedroom as Souja entertains him. “Threatened to leave me, take Filip, turn us in to those Star Helix welwalas.” 

Karal’s brows draw down in a deep scowl as he tries to process this information. Naomi Nagata is no welwala. She hates the Inners as much as the rest of them. It was her pashang code that killed the Gamarra. This betrayal makes no sense until Marco speaks again. 

“Hormones got the best of her, sasa?” Marco looks up, his dark eyes meeting Karal’s. Karal nods, remains silent because he knows Marco isn’t finished. Inaros rocks to his feet and paces across the room, clearly agitated. “ Just sits and stares at the wall, her. Isn’t sleeping or eating. Came home once and Filip was soaked through, pochuye ke? Hadn’t been changed for hours.”

“I don’t trust her with Filipito like this, Karal.” Inaros turns back to face him, his jaw hard. “You and Souja will keep him tonight while I figure this out, ya? Trust you more than any, kopeng mi.”

Something tightens in Karal’s chest. Pride. Protectiveness. He lifts an affirmative fist. “Ya. Don’t even have to ask. Beratnas, us.”

\------

Marco said things were bad, but Karal didn't realize how bad until Naomi shows up at his door, pale and drawn, tear-streaked and shaking. He can see from the look on Souja’s face that she hurts for Naomi. As she wraps her arms around Naomi's shaking shoulders her hazel eyes meet Karal’s across the kitchen and he can see concern, confusion, and distress written in them. Karal remains silent, just leans up against the doorway with his arms crossed, his brow set in a deep scowl as he tries to reconcile this desperate, sobbing girl with the bright young woman he once knew.

He knows Souja won’t tell Naomi that Filip was here just hours ago. She sympathizes, but her loyalty is to her husband. To Marco. 

“Fodagut, Jaja,” Naomi pleads, using Souja’s pet name no doubt in an attempt to manipulate her, stir some kind of sympathy. He can see that it's working, because Souja’s eyes brim with tears as Naomi pulls back to look into her face. “I know what that sabakawala is saying but it’s shit. I would never hurt Filip!” Naomi’s hands go to Souja’s shoulders, her fingers half twisted into the fabric of her shirt. It's enough to make Karal start forward angrily but Souja catches his eye and motions subtly with one hand for him to keep back. Reluctantly he obeys, settling back against the wall with his teeth grinding together. “Why would he say that? Jaja, he's my _son_.” The tears flow freely but Naomi seems to be oblivious to them.

Souja swallows so hard that Karal sees it from across the room. “I'm sorry, Knuckles. Mi na sasa kepelésh da Filipito. If I did, would showxa, ya?” She's telling the truth. Karal knows who has the boy but he hasn't told Souja. 

_'I trust Souja, she's a good woman. But that's why you can't tell her. Better that she isn't burdened with it.’_

Marco is right. Karal can see that now. It's killing Souja that she can't help. He feels a stirring of anger in his chest that Naomi has come into his home, caused his wife this kind of stress. Naomi needs to get her kaka together. It’s no wonder Marco doesn’t trust her with the boy.

“He has no right!” Naomi gives Souja’s shoulders a small shake. Even Karal can see that it isn’t an aggressive gesture. She’s desperate. “He's killed people. Innocent people! A whole pashang ship. He put blood on my hands. He'll turn our son into a killer, too.” Her voice trembles, cracks, and she pulls at Souja’s shirt as if that will somehow make her understand. 

Karal’s jaw tightens. Yeah, Marco saw to it that that transport full of Inners went boom. He's a goddamn hero for it. Show those paxonísekis what the fuck happens when they put their boots on Belta necks. Show them that Beltalowda na gonya take it in silence. Knuckles should be proud to be part of it. Should be proud to be at the side of a man like that, a man who does what it takes, who delivers on his promises. A man who puts his people first.

“Mi na sasa nating about that,” Souja says, and reaches up to gently pull Naomi's hands from her shoulders but keeps them clasped between her own. “Mi sasa Marco is a good man. Koyo ámolof to unte Filipito. He's hurt by this. Talk to him, sésata. For his sake, unte for Filip's.” Karal feels a rush of warmth for his wife and her loyalty, her goodness. He'd have kicked Naomi out long ago, but Souja wants to help. If there’s any hope that Naomi and Marco will reconcile, Souja will see to it that it happens. 

The silence stretches, like Naomi is struggling with what to say or do. She's trembling hard enough that it's visible in the line of her shoulders, in the way her knees jerk. Then she seems to wilt. Karal only sees her profile but it's obvious that the fight has gone out of her. He hears the way her breath hitches, watches as she dissolves into a mess of ugly tears. Souja pulls the broken woman into her arms and rubs her back, humming the same soothing tune she'd hummed to Filipito the night before, the only thing that had finally consoled him after an hour of crying and asking for _ma-ma_ over and over. 

What a mess, Karal thinks. A mess and a fucking shame. He'd always imagined Naomi fighting with them, had assumed she'd be at Marco's side as they led the Belt forward. That's the vision Inaros himself has always painted, but Karal can see now that it was never meant to be. Naomi isn't cut out for this, doesn't have the kula to do the work that needs to be done. Maybe it’s for the best that she breaks now, before she gets in any deeper.

Shaking his head, Karal turns away from the scene and walks into the bedroom. He pulls out his hand terminal to send the message he knows Marco is waiting for; that Naomi’s making her rounds, looking for Filipito. That he’s right. She’s acting crazy.

A pashang shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Belter Creole**  
>  Once again, I used [Memrise](https://www.memrise.com/course/1476694/lang-belta-belter-creole-phrasebook/) for the Belter Creole. If you spot any errors, let me know!
> 
>  _koyo/a_ \- general term for a man or woman  
>  _kula_ \- balls, like "it takes balls to do that"  
>  _welwalas_ \- "planet/Inner lovers," derogatory term for Belters who sympathize with Inners/Earthers.  
>  _sasa_ \- you know?  
>  _pochuye ke_ \- do you understand?  
>  _kopeng mi_ \- my friend  
>  _beratnas_ \- brothers  
>  _fodagut_ \- please  
>  _sabakawala_ \- asshole  
>  _Mi na sasa kepelésh da Filipito_ \- I don't know where Filipito is  
>  _...would showxa, ya?_ \- I would tell you, yes?  
>  _kaka_ \- shit  
>  _paxonísekis_ \- stunted Inner shorty, super derogatory  
>  _...Beltalowda na gonya take it.._ \- Belters aren't gonna take it  
>  _Mi na sasa nating..._ \- I don't know anything  
>  _Koyo ámolof to unte Filipito_ \- That man loves you and Filipito.  
>  _sésata_ \- sister  
>  _pashang_ \- fuck/fucking


End file.
